When I was in elementary school, there was a teacher named Terry (I forget her last name, so let’s just say it’s Smith). Terry Smith’s husband also happened to be named Terry. So my ten-year old brain had no end of fun wondering what happened when they answered the phone and the person on the other end asked to speak with Terry Smith. This was the biggest conundrum my little brain had encountered. “Is Terry there?” “Which one?” “Terry Smith.” “Yes, but which one?” The fun never stopped.

My parents have a friend named Guy. When I was perhaps five, I loved asking my parents, “But what’s the guy’s name?” “Guy,” they replied with infinite patience. “But what’s the guy’s NAME?’

Gosh, kids are fun.

About three weeks ago, TJ and I had three of his Chinese friends over for dinner. One woman, Nicole, had been helping him buy things on taobao (the Chinese Ebay). Through her he met Jane, Nicole’s former co-worker, and Wayne, Jane’s husband.

Wayne and Jane. I still have fun saying that. Part of me hasn’t aged past ten. Wayne and Jane, Wayne and Jane. Wayne and Jane actually might be moving to Arizona (my home) for Wayne’s work. I told them if they do, I’ll give them Mom and Dad’s number and they’ll treat Wayne and Jane right.

Mom and Dad, consider this your notice.

The night we met I made pizza. TJ, as we all know, has been helping me with my Internet woes as patiently as my parents kept answering, “His name is Guy.” Pizza was a staple in TJ’s American diet (up to four times a week, he claims), so he misses real pizza. Pizza in China is…well, strange. Anything with tomato sauce tends to be too sweet. ‘Ketchup’ and ‘tomato sauce’ are the same word in Chinese. Ketchup pizza? Pasta Heinzinara? Anybody?

So I made TJ pizza with tomato sauce from scratch. It was my first time since coming to China preparing a real meal with steps, and it was so relaxing and gratifying to get back in the kitchen. TJ had had a go at making pizza, so he had flour and yeast on hand. I was never so happy to knead dough. Mmmm, the sweet smell of fermentation.

Allow me to introduce you to my cleaver. I don’t believe you’ve met yet.

Ain’t she gorgeous?

I made three toaster-oven-sized pizzas: one with tomato sauce and cheese (TJ’s preference—he had picked up real cheese in Hangzhou); one with pears, bacon, and cheese; and another with red onions and yellow peppers caramelized in bacon fat and a little vinegar. I was quite pleased with myself.

Cheese.

Onion Bacon Pear.

Because simple bacon just would not cut it.

Onion and pepper.

Then TJ busted out the poker chips and taught our guests to play poker. They all caught on fast, especially Wayne and Nicole, who pretty much owned the table. “Never bet with a pregnant woman,” said Nicole, who is, at press time, due in about a month.

We all really enjoyed ourselves and promised to get together again. “We should actually DO it,” I said to TJ. “Not just say we will.” This happens to my family a lot. We get together with some cool people, have a good time, promise to get together again, and don’t see them for a number of years. Rinse and repeat.

Last week, Wayne invited us to his house (where he lives with Jane, obviously, and his parents) for jiaozi (boiled dumplings), a home-cooked meal, and a majiang (mah jongg) tutorial. Did we want to come?

That’s like asking “Do you want dessert?” or “Do you want fries with that?” Um, duh; these are not yes or no questions—they are givens. If x=ellis and y=food, then x+y=no question mark needed.

Why wasn’t I a math major?

Wayne and company live in a very nice house in a little housing area called yangguang cheng, which means Sunshine City. It was the nicest home I’ve been to in China, I think. Three stories and lots of space. Not many Chinese people live so comfortably.

We were greeted with what I call the Welcome Spread. Whenever I go to a Chinese home for a meal, there are always an assortment of nuts, fruits (usually oranges), and little snacks like preserved plum or cracker-y thing free for the pre-and post-meal taking.

Mmm, peanuts. I have a weakness for all things nutty. Don’t even get me started on the jar of Skippy I just bought that only survived two meals.

They also have a dog, Jiajia.

We helped Wayne’s mom bao the jiaozi, an action which TJ and I had a hard time translating into English. The best we could do was ‘encase the dumplings,’ but we just used bao as the verb for putting pork filling in the dumpling skin and then sealing the dumplings shut.

I bao-ed twice when I studied in Beijing. Both times, I failed. My fingers fail to make a spiritual connection with the jiaozi skins. You can tell which ones I bao because they’re the ones that fall apart.

TJ, however, has the Touch of Bao.

So I’ll just eat them and let him bao them all.

After Wayne explained the basic rules of majiang, (note: there are no basic rules. Majiang is like a dialect—people play it different ways depending where they are) it was time for dinner.

Quite a lovely little spread. I was beside myself with glee.

Cold fatty pork slices.

Some pressed tofu cooked with (I think) soy sauce and (definitely) star anise.

Apologies for the blurry picture—I was a little excited.

A hot pot with many assorted kinds of fish balls. Kind of like the Chinese version of Gifelte fish, except good.

Some pickled yellow squash.

Beef and potatoes. This is a very common dish, and one of my favorites. Wayne’s mom’s interpretation reminded me of Dinty Moore Beef Stew improved one thousand fold.

Squash, zucchini-type thing.

Pork with tofu and hot(ish) peppers.

And of course, jiaozi.

Slippery and wet and yummy yummy yummy.

Wayne’s dad is a really cool guy. He gave me and TJ a taste of a few of his Chinese liquors—the traditional yellow wine and the traditional white wine baijiu. Now when I say wine, I don’t mean like, “I daresay, the bouquet on the cabernet is like chocolate mixed with clay.” Chinese ‘wine’ is called ‘jiu,’ which is the all-purpose word for liquor. The baijiu is way stronger than the yellow—I couldn’t hack it. It was like grape-flavored gasoline.

However, Wayne’s dad and I have something in common—a love of and high tolerance for spicy food. When the jiaozi came out, he brought out two different kinds of chili sauce, which I found spicy only in comparison to the jiaozi. But he was not about to let me off the hook.

What’s that, waiguo ren? You say you like spicy food? Well prove it! [note: he did not say this]

He busted out a Ziploc bag of beautiful orange habanero peppers. Turns out he’s been to Mexico and he brought these back with him.

So he took one out, cut it into little pieces, and challenged me to have a go.

I’ve faced these challenges before, the most story-worthy being on the streets of Tibet, when some shop keepers goaded me into eating dry chili powder, and then an entire dry hot pepper and proceeded to laugh at the waiguo ren spectacle and in amazement that my head didn’t explode all over them.

I can hack it, people.

After dinner we moved to the majiang table. As we started the first game with Wayne and Jane, we immediately hit a snag when they couldn’t agree on when you go clock-wise or counter-clock-wise. There was much back and forth about which way to count and take turns, but no agreement. So Jane consulted a few other people via cell phone.

No one could come to a consensus. It was a bit like Calvinball from the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes; you just make up the rules as you go along.

I won’t explain too in-depth about majiang, but the tiles are essentially the Chinese deck of cards. There are four suits: circles (tao), bamboo (tiao), numbers (wan), and directions (feng). You start out with 13 tiles and then try to get three pairs of three (either three of a kind or 1-2-3 sort of thing) and a pair. There are terms like peng, chi, and hu that all have their own requirements.

I did not grasp this easily.

The suits were really hard for me to distinguish. I couldn’t just look at a seven of bamboo and know what it was; I had to sit there and count the bamboo rings. I had a hard time figuring out what to get rid of, or really, what I was trying to obtain.

TJ not only has the Touch of Bao, but the Mind of Majiang. He kept showing me up!

Wayne’s parents joined in, and since this is only a four-person game, everyone took turns watching or helping me figure out what the hell was going on.

Later Nicole came to help out TJ.

I was actually about to win this round, here.

Jiajia was cold.

Wayne.

Jane thinking.

This is my favorite part of the game, the shuffling (literally ‘washing the tiles’) that comes before each round. It’s very gratifying, tactile-ly and aurally.

It was the perfect way to spend the night. I truly hope that I go back there. They are a really interesting, kind, hospitable family. And it doesn’t hurt that they cook well, too.

Tags: animals, huzhou